The Sergeant
by deadpan riot
Summary: Reaver returns to find a most peculiar pair of house guests.  Will Reaver survive the antics of Sparrow and his new furry companion, or will he find himself fleeing back to Samarkand tail between his legs?
1. Welcome Home Reaver

a/n: We've seen plenty of 'Reaver comes back and finds Sparrow in his manor' fics, but this one is going to be a bit...different. I wanted it to be based solely on a humorus situation, one which puts the Pirate Lord in a peculiar position. The Sparrow I've created for this story is male, sacrificed himself at the shadow court, and chose the 'for the many' wish in the spire. It's not completly obvious yet, but he's not quite...shall we say, all there. Poor Reaver, his life is about to get royally fucked up.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable, etc. etc.

Chapter 1:  
Welcome Home, Reaver

* * *

The peculiar stench that was Bloodstone wafted up to him as the ship docked, salty and wholly unwholesome. It was the scent of home, and Reaver was glad to be back. Oh he'd had a marvelous time in Samarkand, yes, but there was something that only this particular city could give to him. And it was _his _town, every filthy inch of street, every unwashed body and near derelict shanty bowed to him.

He cast a bored gaze over to his first mate and all-around man-servant. "Jess, have the men bring my things up in the morning, hm? I think tonight their efforts would be best spent making the rear harbor properly accessible." He'd be damned if he kept his new, prized ship docked amongst those of the riffraff at the main harbor. He'd had his own made for a _reason _after all.

"Aye, captain!" The one-eyed blonde moved swiftly off to relay the orders, and Reaver turned his attention back towards the town.

His gaze lifted up towards his mansion where it stood sentinel above all the others. A welcome sight indeed, after the long journey. A hot bath, a warm body(or three), and he'd be set for the evening. Yes, it was good to be home.

The sinking sun cast the shadow of the great house far out into the courtyard, but Reaver didn't mind. The blasted orb had been assaulting his eyes the entire trek up through the town. He paused only momentarily to look about the garden, noting with a critical eye that it didn't look anywhere near as wild as it probably should have. His hand automatically drifted towards the butt of his gun as he eyed the property before him. There was no 'for sale' sign in sight, but that didn't really surprise him. There was the slim chance that someone had been foolish enough to actually buy the place, but it was more likely that it was simply a sign that none dared mess with the Pirate Lord's estate.

Still, he'd been gone for a long time so far as most would be concerned, and so it was with wariness he mounted the steps to the door. The door opened at his touch, and Reaver walked slowly inside, shutting the thing as quietly as he could. It was warm, and the scent of disuse was nonexistent. Yes, there was definatly someone taking up residence in his home.

He prowled further inside, the eerie feeling of being watched making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see, his gaze sweeping over furniture and floor. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, hand drawing his pistol both slowly, and pointedly. "Come now, all this skulking about is really very _unseemly_. Why don't we settle this like _gentlemen_?" He twirled the Dragonstomper lightly for emphasis.

He was answered with silence, which didn't really surprise him. Although it would have been most welcome to him to get the confrontation over and done with. The sooner he made the bloodstain, the sooner it would be cleaned up, after all.

More movement, a shadow flitting across his field of vision all he needed. He squeezed off a single round, the flash of the muzzle giving him a split second glimpse of his opponent. The visage before his eyes didn't have time to register to him beyond a vague 'what the hell'-esque feeling before a great weight slammed into him. The wind rushed from his lungs and his back hit the floor with a crash, sound just barely muffled by the still echoing noise of the gunshot.

His wits pulled themselves back together, and he realized that whatever had hit him was not only substantially larger than him, but had his arms pinned. And it was _growling_. Reaver blinked a few times, realizing as the world came back into focus, that his skull had probably met the hardwood in a rather harsh way.

The face peering down into his own registered in his mind, fear instantly stilling him and making him take stock of his position. Mainly, where the hell his gun was, and if he'd be able to angle it _just _so…Eyes never leaving those of his assailant, he raked his fingers over the area near his immobile hand. Nothing. The creature cocked it's head, glittering eyes looking him over. The fact that he hadn't been mauled yet, while a plus, was beginning to unnerve him. He'd be damned, however, if he showed it. If he was about to have his face ripped off, he would do so with an air of calm distaste, even if the only witness was the great white balverine currently sitting on his chest.

"Well, are you going to do something, or are you just going to keep staring at me? Hm beastie? I know I'm marvelous to look at, but _really_, this is most uncomfortable."

"Reaver?"

The balverine lifted it's gaze to the doorway, and Reaver, despite himself, did as well, surprise momentarily overcoming his self preservation instincts. He had to tilt his head back to do so, leaving his neck exposed and turning the world upside down. "_Sparrow_?"

The figure in the doorway moved forward, squatting down onto the balls of his feet in front of the pirate's head. Reaver couldn't make out the face looking down at him very well, the angle and the man's long hair getting in the way, but he recognized the voice well enough. The gypsy twang and all.

"I was wondering when you'd come back, Pirate King." Sparrow rested his chin in his hand, seemingly quite unphased by the situation at hand.

Reaver, however, was still very aware of the three hundred some pounds affixing him to the floor. "Are you _aware _that there's a balverine not two feet from that pretty face of yours, or have you gone the way of that _seeress _in my absence?"

Sparrow chuckled, free hand reaching out to scratch behind the monster's ear. "Aye, Reaver."

The pirate lord stared in disbelief as the creature lent into the caress, as opposed to using the opportunity to have itself a snack. The world, it seemed, had lost it's mind.

"And _why _is it in _my _house?"

Sparrow cocked his head, pausing in his ministrations to stare down at the prone man. "Your house?" The hero laughed, once, before continuing. "_He _is in _my _house, pirate."

Reaver scowled, deciding that the discussion on who exactly the manor belonged to could wait until he had full use of his limbs. "_Why_?"

"Because if I left him to sleep in the garden, I'd have to listen to the townsfolk complaining about 'Tha' righ' bloody monst'r wot's watchin' 'em'. Again. Not to mention who knows what would become of the flowers…or what I'd find on the doorstep in the morning…" The last bit came out in a faraway sort of tone that was both whimsical and troubling.

"I'm sorry, but are you _serious_?" Reaver looked back at the balverine, noting a string of saliva that was dangerously close to finding it's way under the collar of his shirt.

"What's the matter Reaver, don't approve of my choice in pets?"

"'pets'. A pet, my dear boy, is something soft, compliant, and utterly defenseless."

Sparrow dropped his hand from the balverine, resting it next to Reaver's face before leaning over to look his 'guest' straight in the eye. "Just because you refer to your whores as your 'pets' doesn't mean they are, you know. Even if they do constantly whine about you being gone."

Reaver scoffed and Sparrow smirked before moving back to his feet. "Now, if I let you up, are you going to behave?"

Reaver rolled his eyes. "Come now, 'behave' is such a relative word…"

Sparrow shifted the sack-strap on his shoulder (which Reaver noticed for the first time) before setting his hands on his hips. "I mean it Reaver. No violence. Not towards me, or Sergeant Smiley here."

"Sergeant _Smiley_? You named it as well?" He was seriously beginning to doubt the sanity of the legendary fourth hero.

"Of course I named him. Now, do we have an agreement? Or would you rather stay as you are until Smiles gets bored?'

Reaver eyed the brute above him, not having to put too much imagination into what would happen with a bored balverine on his chest. Oh how he wished for his gun. "Fine." He replied tersely.

Sparrow nodded. "Good. Now…" The hero of Bowerstone looked around for a moment, before walking out of Reaver's line of sight. "Ah ha!" The gypsy's face appeared over the balverine's shoulder. "Just in case, I think I'll hold onto this." He brought up his hand, revealing the Dragonstomper .48.

Reaver shoved the murderous feelings down, keeping his face as impassive and agreeable as possible. "If you must."

Sparrow nodded, then patted the beast lightly on the shoulder. "Alright Smiles, let him up. There's a good boy."

Sergeant Smiles did as he was bid, one easy movement and Reaver found himself free. He took a moment to enjoy the full use of his lungs and limbs before climbing as elegantly to his feet as he could. Adjusting his clothes, Reaver eyed the pair warily. The balverine stood passively next to his master, towering over the gypsy despite his hunching posture. And now that Reaver could get a proper look at him, he noted the balverine looked far cleaner than any other he had encounted. Not to mention he was sporting a bloody collar, of all things.

Sparrow had unslung the sack from his back, cooing to his pet as he undid the strings holding it shut. "Dinner time Sergeant!" Sparrow upended the sack, contents falling to the carpet with a sick thud. The pile of meat was raw, the smell of blood strong enough to beg the question of where it'd come from. Or who it'd been.

Needless to say, Reaver was quite concerned for the state of his carpets. Between the balverine and his _meals _there was a good chance they'd be quite unsalvageable. Reaver sighed, and again lamented for his poor, poor manor.

Sergeant Smiley fell on his meal, and Sparrow tossed the sack over the back of a chair. The hero moved over to the large fireplace, toeing the wood there for a moment before lighting it with a wave of his hand. "There, much better."

Reaver almost wished he hadn't lit the blasted thing, the sight of a balverine crunching on what looked like a femur of some sort not a pleasant one. His eyes fell to the carpet and he cringed inwardly at the sight of blood and flecks of slobber adorning his once pristine crimson carpeting. No amount of cleaning would get _that _out.

"Care for a drink?"

Reaver ripped his eyes off the disgusting sight playing out before him to fix on Sparrow. "My _dear _boy, I would _love _one."

xxxxx

Reaver settled into his favorite chair, glass of cognac in hand. Sparrow had lit the study's fireplace, which cast the whole of the room in a brilliant golden hue. From it, Reaver could see that little to nothing had been changed since he'd departed, for which he was glad.

Sparrow sat across from him, their relative positions to the firelight allowing Reaver to finally get a good look at the man who was the savior of Albion. The gypsy still bore the signs of his sacrifice at the shadow court all those years ago; long hair white as snow and eyes as red as the embers crackling merrily in the fireplace. And yet the visage was not wasted, not old and broken as all the other sacrifices had been. Just as the night Sparrow'd returned to him, victim of the pirate's selfish and manipulative ways, Reaver marveled on how _youthful _the gypsy looked. The tanned skin contrasting beautifully with the light hair, red eyes adding an ethereal aspect, giving the man a unique beauty that couldn't be bought or sold.

"My, my, my dear little Sparrow how _do _you do it? That pretty face of yours hasn't aged a _day _since last I saw you! You haven't been making any…_unsavory _deals now, have you?"

Sparrow snorted. "_Hardly_. It's the will of Avo that I've retained my youth. Or so I've been told anyway."

As he'd spoken, the Sergeant'd slunk silently into the room, curling up next to his master's chair. Sparrow offered him a light pat on the head, the balverine making a contented noise before dropping his head to the floor.

"And does the 'will of Avo' have anything to do with _that _particularity?" Reaver motioned towards the aforementioned creature with a light wave of his free hand.

Sparrow shrugged. "No idea. But I'd like to think it's _my _will. I've had enough 'divine intervention' for three lifetimes."

Reaver smirked as he remembered the blind seeress and the tale of purpose and destiny she'd spun for him. He'd had his fill of her within the first few minutes of meeting her; he couldn't fathom _living _with that for as long as Sparrow had.

"And speaking of lifetimes…" Sparrow's eyes narrowed, surveying the pirate lord. "I can see by those _lines _by your eyes that you're here to appease a certain trio of _lovely _gentlemen, yea?"

Reaver felt his eye twitch in outrage, but managed to control his emotions. In response he merely raised his now almost empty glass, not quite trusting his voice at the moment. Not to mention the words that might sneak out before he could stop them. He'd already had the pleasure once that evening to see eye to eye with the man's pet, and once was quite enough.

Sparrow nodded, looking thoughtful. The room fell into silence for awhile, the crackling of the fire and the deep whoosh of the balverine's breaths lulling Reaver into a far calmer state then previously.

"I suppose I'll have to accompany you…" The words were soft, but pulled Reaver from his contemplative state none the less.

"Oh?"

"What, you think I'd let you wander out there weaponless? You may be, well, _you_, but that doesn't mean I'd throw you to the banshees so readily. And since I'm not stupid enough to just hand you back your gun and send you on your merry way…I'll have to be the one to keep you from being horribly disfigured by the charming things that haunt Wraithmarsh."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much." This of course was true, although the idea of dredging through the marsh without his Dragonstomper was a dispiriting one.

Sparrow waved a hand as if to dismiss the pirate's statement. "Oh I'm sure you can. But see, thing is, I don't trust you as far as I could throw you."

Reaver sighed. "Of course not. And I suppose it would be foolish of you if you did." He threw the gypsy a little smirk, despite the ire rolling around in his gut.

"Now tell me, how did you acquire such a…_peculiar _pet?" He remembered vaguely that the man had had a dog the first time they'd met, which at the time had seemed so…_barbaric_, but now, well….

"He was terrorizing Westcliff, so of course the townsfolk sent for me. I found him at the blacksmith's shop when I got there. Turns out he'd been the man's apprentice, and during a trip to sell the man's wares, got infected and was left for dead. Apparently he still held a grudge." Sparrow chuckled good naturedly before continuing. "I didn't manage to stop him from killing the man, but I did chase him out of the town. When I was making my way back home, I realized he was following me, and somehow or other managed to win him over to me. I think my sparing his life may have had something to do with it. Or the fact that I fed him the entire way back to Bowerstone…"

Reaver just looked between the two. Figures, the ever-good Sparrow would do such a thing.

"The people of Bowerstone, of course, were against my bringing him to live with me, kicked me out right proper they did." Sparrow laughed at the memory, taking a sip of cognac. "So I had to find someplace where I could keep him, and realized there was no better place than Bloodstone. Oh sure, people still complain, but there's no real backing to their threats. I think they've more or less gotten used to him by now…and certainly the butcher enjoys the amount of gold I spend to feed him."

"How _fascinating_. Especially since you decided that the best place to keep him was my manor."

Sparrow sighed. "It's _my _manor, Reaver. I bought it, fixed up the lovely damage Lucien's goons caused, and even planted more flowers. If you didn't want to lose it, you shouldn't have left."

"Finders keepers hm? I was under the impression we were marginally older than _five_."

Sparrows laughter filled the room, Sergeant Smiley looking between his master and the pirate before rolling over to a more comfortable position.

"Yea, well, as you would say Reaver, _semantics_." Sparrow stood, stretching. "It's late. I'm going to bed. We can debate in the morning. Come on Pirate Lord, I'll show you to the guest room."

"_Guest _room?"

"Well yes. Would you rather sleep here on the floor with Smiles?"

"I'd rather sleep in _my _room, thank you."

"Well, _my dear_, being that it's now _my _room…Tough shit."

Reaver sighed, and begrudgingly stood to follow his _host_. He threw a scowl at the back of the hero's head. He was seriously regretting coming back without his men armed to the bloody _teeth_.

"Night Smiles!"

Reaver cast a glance back over his shoulder at the creature responsible for his dilemma.

"_Bloody balverine_."

* * *

a/n: Oh how I wished throughout every single Fable game that you could make the monsters(mostly the balverines) your pets. Unfortunatly for Reaver, Sparrow shares my sentiments. Next up: Reaver, Sparrow, and Sergeant Smiley go visiting at the shadow court. Wraithmarsh ahoy!

deadpan riot


	2. Day Trip: The Shadow Court

a/n: I should probably warn you that some of the humor used in this chapter is on the darker end of the 'ha-ha' scale. I blame Reaver; He blames those creepers that he sells young people to; they blame the republicans. Although I have to wonder if they even know what a republican is...

Chapter 2:  
Day-trip: The Shadow Court

Summary: In which Reaver, Sergeant Smiles, Sparrow, and one lucky Bloodstone-ian frolic through Wraithmarsh to visit those lovely gents at the Shadow Court.

* * *

Reaver had not slept well. In fact, he'd spent a good share of the night pacing about his room, scowling and trying to come up with a game plan. Unfortunately, anything he came up with was either faulted, or down right ludicrous. Between the bloody balverine and his lack of firearm he was, essentially, screwed. And not in the way that he would have liked. And he couldn't rely on his crew for much, considering they had no _idea_ what it was they were going to be willingly walking into on the morrow. No, he'd have to come up with something on his own. Something dastardly and underhanded, preferably.

"Oy Reaver!" The sound of a fist hitting the door accompanied the gypsy's yell, effectively pulling the pirate from his mutinous thoughts. "You alive in there?"

Sighing, the thief pulled himself from the chair he'd been slumped in. Better to answer the door then have the man on the other side decide it was an obstacle that needed eliminating. It was, after all, a pain finding just the right type of wood to make such beautiful doors.

Throwing on his best 'I'm better than you and you're boring the crap out of me' face, Reaver removed the one thing that was keeping him from having to look at his 'host. "My dear boy even if I _wasn't_, that marvelous racket you're making would have brought me to the door _anyway_."

Sparrow smirked, glittering eyes narrowing as he leant against the doorframe. "Glad to know I can hold your attention."

Reaver waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. Now what do you _want_ hm? I don't suppose you're here to _relinquish _my property?"

Sparrow snorted. "Hardly. We've got a long walk ahead of us, and I wanted to make sure you didn't plan on sleeping the day away, or managed to go off and lose a limb or two in the night. You know how balverines are. Easily bored, always hungry."

Reaver scowled inwardly. "Yes, well, I hardly think your little _beastie_ could manage to sneak up on me. This _is _a rather small room you know."

"You'd be surprised. You have to sleep sometime Reaver."

"Is that a _threat_?"

"Course not. It's a fact…unless you don't actually need to sleep…You do sleep, right?"

"Of _course _I do. My _deal _was for eternal youth, not eternal _insomnia_."

"Ah. Right. Well then." Sparrow rapped a fist against the wooden frame before moving swiftly off towards the stairs. "I suggest you hurry up pirate, or I'll have to choose who you look like for the next ten years!"

By the time what'd been said had fully registered, Sparrow had already disappeared from sight. "Now, either he's trying to be _funny_, or he's gone completely _daft._ Who I look like…_really_."

Xx

The streets were relatively quite, the only people about being the whores and the bumbling drunks. All of which were giving them plenty of space, thanks to the balverine skulking about in Sparrow's shadow.

"Well, see anything you like?" Sparrow jabbed a thumb at a man currently trying to hold himself upright against a fence. "Think you'd look right frightening with those whiskers he's got on 'im."

Reaver raised a brow at the gypsy. "You do _realize_ that I get their _youth_ and not their_ looks_, yes?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Yea yea. Still."

Reaver sighed. "Yes, well, that _aside, _perhaps picking someone who isn't at the moment capable of _standing_ isn't _feasible_. We do have to get through _Wraithmarsh_ after all. And I would so _detest_ having to _drag _some unwashed peasant the entire way."

"Least he'd be compliant. Can't object if he doesn't know where he is."

"Well if _you're _willing to carry him, then be my guest."

Sparrow eyed the man in question for a moment, before moving on with a wave of his hand. "If I carry him, who's going to keep all the '_beasties' _from eating _you_?"

"The _great hero_ can't do both at once? My, what _will _your fans think?"

"Weeeell…I suppose I could…But we wouldn't want your 'goods' to be damaged when we get there. The creepies might want a refund."

Reaver sighed, bored with the conversation. "Well, I could always give them _you _again, being that you seem to be a veritable _fontaine de jouvence._"

Sparrow threw him a blank look, of which he ignored. Far be it from him if the gypsy couldn't figure out such a simple phrase. And in all honesty, sometimes Reaver found himself surprised that Sparrow knew words that had more than two syllables.

"Hey pet, care for a bit of slap 'n tickle?"

Reaver paused, ignoring both Sparrow(who hadn't realized he was no longer being followed) and the Sergeant(who was watching the pirate with keen eyes). The woman smiled, and Reaver guessed her to be 15 at most; even with the dirt and makeup she couldn't hide the too girlish face. He returned her smile, offering his hand. "My dear, you read my mind."

He pulled her past the balverine, which she didn't seem too particularly phased by, continuing down the street towards where the gypsy stood waiting. He watched the red eyes move over the girl at his side, and at the same time felt her stiffen.

"If he's joinin', it's gonna cost extra."

Reaver chuckled at the sight of Sparrows eyebrows disappearing into his hairline(figuratively, of course). "Don't worry my dear, he's merely going to be our _body guard_."

She frowned up at him. "Wha'? Why?"

Putting up a most charming façade, he spun her a wonderful little tale that would both ease her mind, and prepare her for the fact she was about to be paraded through Wraithmarsh.

"Well.." Despite the uncertainty in her voice, Reaver knew she'd agree. They always did, when offered the right price. "Ok." She eyed the three of them before allowing Reaver to lead her along.

Xx

The first rays of sunlight were trickling up into the heavens as they crested the hill that overlooked the town. The incessant prattling of Sparrow and the whore was grating on his nerves, and they hadn't even made it to the marsh yet. The girl had been compliantly quite, at first. But Sparrow, for whatever reason, had started asking her all sorts of things, and from there it'd all gone down hill as she grew comfortable in his presence.

"So tha' balverine of yours, he gotta name?"

"Sergeant Smiley. Or Smiles, or Sergeant. Or Ted. But I don't ever call him that, since he's not _technically _Ted anymore."

The girl giggled, the sound highly irritating to the pirate. "Sergean' Smiley? Why'd ya call him tha'?"

Sparrow looked from the creature in question back to the girl. "Because he's always smiling, of course." He held his index fingers up to his lips, sweeping over them as he pulled his lips back into a feral grin.

She giggled again, throwing a furtive glance at the balverine who was currently watching a group of gulls with great interest. "I see your point. So you knew 'im then? When 'e was Ted I mean."

At this point, Reaver had completely blocked them out. Why ever Sparrow wanted to make friends with the girl he was willingly taking to her doom was beyond him. Making her feel at ease was one thing, but this was, quite frankly, pushing it. Reaver silently swore to whatever bloody gods there were that if the gypsy had a change of heart when the time came, all because he'd made friends with the damned wench, he'd personally feed them both to the banshees, balverine and shadow courtiers aside.

Reaver passed nonchalantly into the tomb that would lead them out into Wraithmarsh, Smiles coming to walk beside him. Although whether it was because he admired Reaver's fearless ascent into the darkness, or because he was wary of him and wanted him within mouth's reach was lost on the pirate. Balverine's were far harder to read than humans, what with all the fur and teeth and such.

"Bit creepy, innit?"

Reaver laughed inwardly, not even annoyed that her voice had somehow found its way back into his head. She had no _idea _ofwhat was ahead, and that, at least, was something that could be used for his own personal amusement.

Sergeant Smiles huffed, drawing Reaver's gaze. He was met with glowing eyes, eyes that seemed to know exactly what he'd just been thinking about. It unnerved him, a little. "_What_?"

Xx

The last of the hollow men broke apart with a whoosh and a groan, leaving them in sudden silence. Dead men were irritatingly loud, especially in large quantities, and Reaver was glad for the reprieve. He hated complaining, unless it was he himself that was doing it.

"There sure are alo' ah those things out 'ere…" The girl was currently standing behind Sparrow, clutching at his elbow as she peered around him.

Once he'd ascertained that they were, for the moment, quite alone, Sparrow turned his head to look at her. "Don't worry Marie, that's what I'm here for. Somebody's got to look out for you lot."

She smiled shyly up at him, and Reaver rolled his eyes. He would have entered in his own retort, but he didn't feel like talking to either of them at the moment. They'd been walking for ages, and although he knew they were almost there, it didn't change the fact that he felt he was stuck in some never-ending hell. The less he spoke, the less likely it'd be that he'd snap and push them both off a cliff.

With a pointed look at the Sergeant (who was gnawing contentedly on a leg bone) Reaver continued on down the path. Smiles(as Reaver figured he would) followed, despite that his master was still waxing heroic for the soon to be sacrifice. The creature had obviously been instructed to watch him, and that, combined with the fact that Sparrow could look after himself, kept him from feeling bad about leaving him and the tart behind.

Within a few minutes the doorway to the shadow court came into view, the only sound the squeak of the hanging cages as they swayed in the breeze. The place was just as sinister and foreboding as he remembered. Which for once didn't seem to be a bad thing, as it had effectively shut the girl up.

"Where are we?" Apparently he'd spoken too soon(so to speak).

"Well, uh, it's, a uh-"

"A short-cut. Skip over the nasty bits." Reaver cut in before Sparrow could say something asinine. He threw the girl a wink for good measure. She was still giving the place the evil eye, but seemed to accept the lie without too much trouble. Ah the young, so naïve. Fortunately for her, he was about to alleviate her of it. Well, technically a trio of shadow…men…things were, but that was neither here nor there. He'd still take the credit…unless he was called on it, of course.

With distaste that he didn't outwardly show, Reaver pulled the dark seal from the small pouch he'd shoved it in(Like hell he'd keep _that _in his pocket). With a click the entrance opened, the grating of the stone echoing in the darkness beyond.

"Oh Sparrow dear, care to _illuminate_ this troublesome path for us?" He threw the gypsy a sickengly sweet look.

With a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated half-bow, Sparrow moved past Reaver into the passage. "As yeh wish, mas'ah Reavuh." Raising his palm and flicking his fingers slightly, Sparrow summoned a ball of flame to hover in his hand.

Reaver chuckled at the gypsy's exaggerated drawl, grabbing the girl by the arm and pulling her swiftly after him. Smiles wove his way around them, slinking into the darkness further ahead.

"Oi Smiley, don't wander too far!" Sparrows voice effectively covered the noise of the door closing behind them of it's own accord.

Reaver, however, noted it, slight trepidation squirming in his gut. The judges knew they'd arrived.

Xx

"Hey Reaver, I know it's been awhile since I've, uh, _used this shortcut,_ but aren't there generally more…_people_ down here?"

The pirate tore his gaze away from the ceiling to look over at the human torch that was Sparrow. "Hm? Oh, _them? _Well, now that you mention it…" He swept his gaze over the flickering shadows of the current dungeon-esque room they were passing through. It'd been even longer since he himself had last passed through the place, but now that the subject was brought up, he noticed the distinct lack of _minions_ hounding them.

"Well?"

Reaver sighed in a long suffering sort of way. "Yes, I suppose there _is_ a distinct lack of the _usual crowd_. One can only hope they've all grown _bored _of the place and gone to seek, oh what's that term you people use? Ah yes, _greener pastures."_

Despite the horrific lighting, Reaver could make out a brow being raised in his direction.

"'ho'd want ta be down 'ere?"

Reaver looked down at the girl by his side. He'd almost forgotten she was there, despite that he'd only moments ago been engaged in an evasive conversation meant to keep her in the dark about the shadow beings. And that he still had a hold of her arm. "_Ruffians_ mostly. Nothing the _mighty Sparrow_ can't handle, I imagine." The way the girl beamed at the gypsy, you'd think she didn't catch the sarcasm he'd practically _drowned_ the statement in.

"Wow, the _almighty _Reaver handing out _praise_? I'm truly _honored_." At least Sparrow understood he'd been verbally bashed.

"As you should be." He threw the hero a regal gesture and a wink.

Sparrow snickered and shook his head. "So I've been tol-Smiles! Leave that alone! What have I told you about mauling inanimate people?"

Reaver followed Sparrow's gaze, and sure enough the balverine was standing on a statue plinth, chewing on the thing's outstretched arm. Obviously having once been human didn't mean the thing retained the intelligence of one. Unless, of course, Ted had been of the all brawn no brain type(he _had _been a blacksmith's apprentice after all, so the idea was plausible).

"Bloody hell Sergeant, get that thing out of your _mouth! _You have no idea where it's _been!_" With obvious reluctance the beast did as he was told, the arm glistening with saliva and flecked with tooth marks.

"Here, I wager. I doubt it can move all that far, being a _statue _and all. Although I must say it's _doubtful_ there exists something _fouler _than the disease ridden clap-trap of that _pet_ of yours." Reaver followed the balverine's movements with his eyes, noting the way he sniffed and scratched at wall and floor alike.

"Obviously you've never been around Hammer when she's having her 'time of the month'."

Reaver shuddered, both at the mental images, and the implications. He found the woman's attitude aggravating on a normal day, Sparrow's comment making him never ever want to be around her in such a state. Ever. He could _not _be held accountable for his actions, no matter what Theresa said to the contrary.

In no time at all they found themselves descending the final stairwell into the heart of the place. The closer they got, the stronger Reaver's unease became. Not that he'd ever show it, but he deplored the place. And the shadow judges gave him the creeps, no matter how many times he laid eyes on them.

The girl in his grasp tensed, and he absently ran his thumb up and down her arm in an attempt to keep her docile. He so hated it when they tried to run.

As they entered the final chamber, Sparrow moved to stand next to the exit while Reaver lead the girl further in. Smiles didn't even cross the threshold, instead standing eerily still just below the last step.

Reaver stopped in the middle of the floor, turning slightly to look at his toll. "Would you be a dear and hold this for me? Just for a moment." He held out the pouch containing the dark seal to her, which she took, somewhat reluctantly.

"I-I though' this was a shor'cu'…" Her voice was small and sickeningly child-like in it's fear.

"Did I say that?"

Bulbous eyes peered up at him, then looked quickly back at Sparrow. The hero was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring fixedly at the floor.

A low growl from the balverine warned Reaver that their hosts were approaching, and sure enough seconds later the three shadow judges appeared as if from nowhere.

The girl gasped and tried to back away, thwarted of course by Reaver's now steely grip.

"_Welcome_." The three intoned together, burning eyes surveying the group with unblinking scrutiny.

"Ah _gentlemen, _how simply _marvelous _to see you again! As _dashing _and _eloquent_ as ever I see! Love what you've done with the place." He threw them a dashing smile, keeping the sarcasm in his words as nonexistent as possible.

"_It has been long since last you graced us with your presence Thief Prince. Always finding others to dirty their hands for you."_ The middle judge made a vague gesture towards Sparrow, obviously remembering him. Although Reaver would have been more surprised if they hadn't. After all, what else went on in their 'lives' asides from taking the occasional sacrifice? Poker night? The pirate doubted _that _particular notion quite highly.

"Yes and I am _indeed _sorry about that. But you know how it is, _eternity _making for one _busy _life and all that."

"_Just do not forget your obligations, Reaver."_ The judge's tone somehow managed to turn even darker then previously.

"Of course not! How could one _forget _such a…_pressing _issue?"

He wasn't completely sure, but it almost sounded as though the word 'wrinkles' had magically come into existence somewhere near where Sparrow was lurking. How _peculiar_, he'd have to _ask _the gypsy about it later.

"Which is, in _fact,_ why I find myself here to-night." He pulled the girl in front of him, wishing most vehemently that he had his gun to stick in her scrawny little back. Now _that _would most definatly keep her from moving.

The judges' attentions seemed to move to the proffered girl, who was still clutching the pouch containing the seal.

"_So it will be: the one holding the dark seal will sacrifice their youth so the Prince of Thieves may retain his." _

At the words a pulse beat through the girl's core, Reaver releasing her with a not so tiny shove forward. He didn't know what would happen if he was holding his sacrifice at the time, but he wasn't too keen to find out.

She stumbled a bit, before spinning to look beseechingly at the two men. Sparrow was still staring at the floor as if it had said something dirty to him, and Reaver was inspecting his nails. They were sparkling clean, despite the trek there. He silently applauded himself.

"Wha's goin' on? I di'nt agree tah this…" She whimpered pathetically, but was ignored. She opened her mouth to beseech the hero, but her words were choked off as a strange, unearthly fog invaded every crevice of her being. Before their eyes(though neither of them were actually watching) her youth was sucked away, skin sagging and hair graying.

Reaver reveled in the prickly feeling that erupted on every inch of his flesh as his youth was renewed. It was peculiar, if not erotic, and was(he had to admit) his favorite part of the whole damn process. Oh if only he could have been back in his mansion like the _last _time he(that is Sparrow) made a sacrifice. Now _that _had been an excellent romp between the sheets. Although he couldn't for the life of him recall exactly who it had been with.

"_The sacrifice has been made."_

Reaver dropped the hand he'd been staring at without seeing for the past few minutes and looked up at the dark men-things. "Marvelous! Now that _that's_ taken care of, we best be off. Things to do_, _miles of _muck _to trudge through. You understand. Ta!" Snatching the pouch easily from the weeping girl, Reaver spun on his heel and began the trek back to the _other _hellhole(Wraithmarsh, not Bloodstone.)

Upon seeing Reaver coming towards him, Smiles spun and fled up the stairs, clearly disturbed by the place. Or Reaver. Again, balverines, hard to read, etc. etc. and so forth.

"Are-are you just going to leave her down here?"

Reaver glanced over his shoulder at the troubled hero traipsing behind him. "Why not? She's no longer of _use _to me, and I dare say the _natives_ will enjoy her _company_."

The sound of footsteps behind him stopped as Sparrow paused to look back at the girl who hadn't budged from where she'd been left.

Reaver sighed and stopped as well, turning slightly to better face his jailer and bodyguard. "What do you _expect _me to do with her? Bring her back to her _family_? Looking like _that_ with _my _name on her lips? I think _not,_ my poor, dear little Sparrow. Better to leave her to the _beasties._" A sly look came over his face. "Or better still to nestle a bullet between those once-pretty eyes of hers. Save her the _pain_ of being eaten _alive_."

Sparrow turned to look at him, eyes wide as his morals clashed with one another. The sight of the man's plight pleased Reaver to no end. With a smirk, Reaver turned and resumed his ascent, throwing a lazy 'get on with it' gesture over his shoulder.

A few drawn out minutes of silence later, and the sound of footsteps behind him resumed, Sparrow skipping stairs in his attempt to catch up to his house guest/hostage/person. "Leaving her to the beasties then _hm? _Not _my _choice, but it will have to do."

"I don't kill people, Reaver."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that annoying little fact, _mon cherie. _However, I find I must ask, is it _really _better to leave her to the devices of the, ah, _locals_?"

Sparrow was silent, except for the sound of his moping, which Reaver could clearly hear. Not that he was making any _actual _noise.

The rest of the trek was made in a similar fashion, Sparrow not even noticing(or caring) when they passed Smiles once again chewing on the same statue he'd been at earlier. The man didn't utter so much as a word when the sound of cracking stone rent the air and a jovial balverine romped past with a stiff grey arm clamped firmly in his maw.

Reaver chuckled at the sight, although he was hoping the prize would get lost somewhere in the marsh. The thing was covered in slobber and dust after all, and his poor carpets had already suffered so much.

xx

Finally they reached the main entrance, Reaver inserting the seal with glee at the prospect of being gone from the place. The door opened with it's usual grating noise, cool air rushing in to greet them. "Ah the outside world, how I've _missed_ you." He stepped briskly out into the dreary night, glad for the somewhat fresher air. "Coming Sparrow love?"

Sparrow had paused just outside the door, one hand holding it open as he looked back the way they'd come.

"Now don't tell me you've changed your mind, my dear boy."

The gypsy looked back at him, a frown on his face. "I-no. No." Sparrow's eyes moved to stare at Reaver's shoes, causing some of the pirate's good mood to evaporate. Quite intent on returning to _his _mansion sometime within the next decade, Reaver moved forward and grabbed the hero's upper arm, leading him away from the doorway much as he'd led the girl _in _to it.

"Come now love, I know just how to cheer you up! Oh don't look at me like that, it's something completely harmless as far as your _particular _moral compass is concerned. Why, all you need to do is tear apart a few of those charmingly dead fellows, and you'll feel right as rain!" He released the gypsy, giving his arm a light(but probably somewhat painful) squeeze first.

"Eh, I don't know Reaver…" Despite the lack of enthusiasm, Sparrow came to walk next to him.

"Aht-tut-tut, you shouldn't question the wisdom of my words, dear boy! Just go to it, then revel in my _rightness._" The sounds of wisps diving into the ground to bury themselves in the husks of dead men punctuated his words quite nicely, if he did say so himself.

Sparrow sighed(though it sounded melodramatic enough to be false), pulling his sword from his sheath and collecting a ball of fire in his fist. "_Fine."_

_

* * *

_

Ug, I hate trying to write accent's(which is why I only mentioned Sparrow has one as opossed to writing one for him) buuuut I attempted to give one to the girl(what was her name? Mary? Well, it's Mary now. Real names be damned! You come when I call no matter if I've gotten your name right or not! What? 'nickname feature'? Pffft, right ok. That's totally what I'm talking about.)

ANYWAY. Next chapter: The trio return to the manor to find _more bleeding house guests._

*oh, and the french Reaver used, ___fontaine de jouvence_ means, as google-fu has informed me, fountain of youth. I figure since that's not something well used(at least that I know of in america) I should translate. Saves you from having to use your google-fu...or not, whatever you want, dears.

ta!  
deadpan riot


	3. The Learning Curve

Chapter 3: The Learning Curve

Sumary: With Reaver's payment to the Shadow Court taken care of, the trio return to the not-so-humble seaside refuge, only to find they aren't alone. And Reaver makes a most amusing discovery about Sparrow's dear balverine.

* * *

"As much as I hate to say it-" Sparrow paused to let loose a stunning display of pyrotechnics into the face of a rather large hollowman. "You were right. I'm feeling loads better!"

Reaver grinned smugly, eyes following the gypsy's body as it wove easily around the decaying monsters. He himself had found a rather nice spot atop an old column to watch the _festivities_, being unarmed and all. And there were a rather lot of them this go. He had to wonder just _where_ all those bodies were coming from. Even he didn't kill that many people(out here).

Sergeant Smiley seemed to be enjoying himself as well, pouncing onto his victims in an almost playful manner.

"_Speaking _of me, while we were down conversing with my most _charming_ friends, I could have _sworn_ I heard someone mention something about _wrinkles._ You wouldn't happen to know anything about that now, would you _mon petit saint_?"

"What? Sorry, didn't catch that."

Reaver, however, knew he had, and thus continued onwards with the 'conversation'. "It was the most _peculiar _thing, as if a _specter _drug itself from the afterlife _just _to insult _me._ Unless there was someone _else _down there with us…But then _you _would have noticed us being _followed_, the _great hero_ you are."

Sparrow re-murdered the last of the hollow men, then turned to look up at the voyeur. "I have _no idea _what you're talking about Reaver. I think you might be hearing things. You feeling all right? Maybe you caught some weird disease in Samarkand."

"Or maybe I've garnered the power to _commune _with the afterlife hm? Perhaps one could even go so far as to _insinuate _that I can see dead people! In fact, I do believe I see one now…"

Sparrow stared blankly up at him, and Reaver made a 'turn around' gesture with his index finger. Sparrow did so halfheartedly, only to start violently at the sight of a decaying mouth flying towards his face.

Reaver's laughter echoed unevenly around them as Sparrow hacked the wayward zombie into bite-sized pieces. "Such a pity, I must say. You'd make a rather _splendid _ghoul." As he spoke he removed himself from his perch, brushing non-existent dirt from his trousers.

Sparrow patted him somewhat forcefully on the shoulder. "Good to know. S'pose that means you'd make an even better one eh? Well don't worry, I'll make sure you're the first person I come after." With a mischievous smirk, Sparrow sauntered off to pull Smiles out of the tomb he was currently desecrating.

Reaver, ever paranoid, looked down at his shoulder, only to cringe at the sight of dead people goo. Dead people goo with a sprinkling of what was either skin, or maggots. Either way, it was extremely disgusting, and certainly not something that belonged on _his _clothing.

"Come on Reaver! I want to get out of here before Smiles decides he needs to mark every bloody tomb in the graveyard." Sparrow yanked the balverine by the collar as he spoke, not wishing to rescue his pet from Twinblade's wrath.

Reaver had, in fact, been making his way to the gypsy even as he spoke. Just as Sparrow turned to see if he was being followed, Reaver caught him, grabbing a fistful of the hero's shirt. Before Sparrow could figure out how to react, Reaver had unceremoniously yanked the man's shirt up, using it to wipe the grime from his shoulder.

"It seems you've finally been of some _use _to me. _Bravo._"

Reaver released the(now dirty and somewhat stretched) shirt with a little flourish, swiping at a stray lock of the man's hair in the process. The cloth hadn't completely rid him of the questionable fluids, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. Fortunately he had another shirt exactly like the one he was wearing, so the drawbacks of 'cleansing it with fire' were insignificant.

He didn't bother to ask the hero if he were coming or not, knowing he'd be followed either way. They were going to the same place after all.

Sparrow huffed indignantly. "Finally useful…" He paused in his mumbling to get a better grip on the massive beast's collar. "Let's go boy, _his royal highness_ is leaving without us."

xx

By the time they reached the mansion, the sun itself had fallen beneath the horizon, leaving in it's wake a plethora of brilliant hues. It made Reaver think of fire, which reminded him of the sorry state of his shirt(which had momentarily slipped his mind thanks to an incident involving the balverine, a cat, and one now very broken pie stand.) Not even bothering to go further into the house than the foyer, Reaver stripped off the (in his mind) ruined garment.

"Damn it Sergeant, that's the third thing you've broken this week alone! The hell am I going to do with you? You keep this up and you're gonna get our asses kicked out of here as we-what the hell."

Reaver glanced over his shoulder to see Sparrow standing there like an idiot, staring at him with a surprisingly deadpan look to match his tone. Either he wasn't a fan of having a half-naked Reaver sprung on him, or he _was_ but didn't want to show it. "Can I help you?" He cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow suggestively to match his sly tone.

Sparrow blinked at him for a second, before slowly shaking his head. "Do I want to know why you're getting undressed in the middle of this giant bleeding hall?"

"First off, my dear boy, it's called a _foyer_. Secondly," He walked casually over towards the fireplace. "It's _my _home, therefore I can _strip_ wherever I see fit. And _lastly,_" He tossed the doomed piece of fabric atop the logs. "I can't go around with dead men's _bodily fluids_ on my clothing, it's _unsanitary_." He lit the shirt nonchalantly on fire, then stood to watch it be consumed.

"Right. Course. Makes perfect sense. I'm going to bed now." Sparrow turned to the stairs, patting Smiles absently on the head as he passed.

"Hey cap'n, we got all yer-oh. Sorry. Didn' mean tah interrupt." Jess, the one-eyed first mate, stopped his descent of the stairs as he saw the two men.

Sparrow looked confusedly at the man, then at Reaver. His cheeks colored as he realized what was being implied. "Wha-no! Your not-this isn't-what the hell are you doing in my house?"

"_Yer _house?" The first mate looked to Reaver. "What's he on about?"

Reaver waved a hand absently. "Oh some _nonsense_ about his _legally _owning _my _manor." Reaver looked thoughtfully between the two confused men. The fact that at least one of his crew members was present was starting to sink in, and with it the prospect of regaining what was his. "Jess dear, you wouldn't happen to be _armed _would you?"

The man's single eye narrowed, hand automatically moving to his hip where his gun was. "Course boss, why?"

"Oh, no _reason,_ just that I'm currently being held _hostage_ in my own home."

"Really now."

"Oh my, yes. If you would be a dear and _take care _of this little problem for me?"

Sparrow's hand moved to his own pistol as the reality that he was about to be shot took root in his skull. "Whoa whoa whoa. I'm not holding you bloody hostage, Reaver!"

The thief lord tapped a finger on his chin in mock thought. "Well now, you and your _charming_ pet _ambushed _me as I was walking into _my _home, _brutalized_ me, and took my _gun_. Sound about right?"

Sparrow gaped at him. "I told you, I bloody bought the place! And if I hadn't taken your gun, you would have shot us!"

"An' the brutalizin'?" Jess was eyeing Sparrow, wary of taking on someone who could outmatch his boss.

Sparrow looked sheepish. "Well, Smiles might have been a bit…rough, but he was just watchin' the house like I told him to. And he didn't actually _hurt_ you. I mean, you still got your head attached to your shoulders right?"

Reaver sighed in that practiced way of his. "Yes, but it was still highly _unpleasant_." He motioned for Jess to do as he'd been told.

The blonde looked far from pleased, but drew his gun none the less.

Sparrow left his pistol in it's holster, though one hand still hovered over it, other coming up as if to halt the attack. What happened next was a whirl of sound and destruction as Jess fired, Sparrow countering it with magic. The force of the spell not only deflected the bullet, but tore through the banister and everything else in the way.

Jess was thrown backwards and pummeled with pieces of wood, stunning him long enough for Sparrow to draw his gun and aim it. By the time the pirate had managed to figure out which way was up and climb ungracefully to his feet, he'd already lost. He made to bring his pistol back to face Sparrow, only to have the wall next to his ear explode as a bullet lodged itself snugly into the wood. "Fuck!"

"Look, I really don't want to have to shoot you. It's bad enough I just destroyed half the bloody house, I don't feel like cleaning up more blood as well."

Jess eyed the gun currently targeted at his forehead, weighing his options. If he surrendered, Reaver would shoot him. If he did as he was bid and tried to attack again, he'd get shot. Either way he was going to end up in a lot of pain. Normally it'd be a question of who he feared more, but at this point, it was hard to say. The guy before him had just thrown destruction in his face with a flick of his wrist, but Reaver, well…

A low growl and a gust of hot air danced around his neck. Jess stiffened, then turned his head just enough to see the newest variable in his problem. His eyes went huge as he realized that the large white thing behind him was a balverine. "Uh, Cap'n?"

Reaver, having already realized his plan had failed(as he knew it would, blast it all), eyed his first mate boredly. "Hm?"

"I, uh, I think I'm…bested." He tried to smile reassuringly at the balverine. "Tha's a good doggy, yea?" Smiles huffed and growled some more.

"You should leave before Smiles decides he wants a second dinner."

Reaver scoffed. "Why ever would you let him _leave?_ He tried to _kill_ you, shoot him dear boy!"

"Shut up Reaver."

The pirate lord sighed. So much for getting the gypsy to punish his first mate for failing him. "Right, of course. I keep forgetting you refuse to _kill_ anyone. Although I must say, I assumed you didn't see _pirates _as being _people._"

"I don't. I just don't feel like cleaning his face off the wall."

"That, love, is why one employs _maids_." He eyed the damage to the foyer, wondering how long it was going to take the hero to clean up the mess he'd made. _He _certainly wasn't going to help.

"No, that's why _you_ employ maids."

Reaver shrugged, although he doubted Sparrow saw it. "Eh, well yes, among _other things_."

Sparrow ignored him, making a vague gesture with his hand. Although it wasn't so vague that Smiles didn't understand, apparently, as the balverine began jostling Jess down the stairs.

Reaver watched as his first mate was 'escorted' to the door, a sudden thought accuring to him. "You brought my things?"

Jess nodded. "Y-yea. Put 'em away like yeh said."

"And the harbor?"

"Tha' too. We did everythin' like yeh asked Cap'n."

Reaver nodded. "Good. Oh and Jess?" He waited until the man stood on the other side of the door, looking fearfully at him with his only good eye. "_Ta."_

Sparrow shut the door in the pirate's face, then turned to survey the damage.

"Well as much _fun_ as this has been, I'm off to bed. Have fun with your _cleaning. Honestly,_ no _maids…" _Reaver turned to the opposite staircase. He _knew _he had at least _one _gun among the things he'd 'acquired' in Samarkand, now all he had to do was remember where exactly he'd stuck it. He figured he'd have a decent window in which to work while the gypsy cleaned up the destruction, and he planned on _utilizing _it, damn it.

"Not so fast, _pirate."_

A furry wall appeared in front of him as Sparrow spoke, quite nicely cutting off his escape. "Oh? Come now, you don't expect _moi _to clean this _mess _of yours do you?" He glanced casually back at the gypsy as if the threat of being mauled didn't phase him in the slightest.

"You clean? I'm not delusional, Reaver." He ignored the pirates skeptical look. "Which is why your going to stay here and keep Smiley company while I go find all the firearms your friend just brought. What, you really think I wouldn't have caught that?"

Reaver covered his surprise smoothly with a mask of innocence. "Why Sparrow, how could you even _think_ such a thing of me?"

Sparrow laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Keep an eye on him Sergeant."

And so Reaver was stuck, shirtless, in a half-destroyed foyer with a balverine while Sparrow went through each room in the house to confiscate anything _fun_. "You could have at least started with the study, you know! I could use a drink, not to mention it's a bit _drafty_ out here." He yelled up to the gypsy as he passed from one side of the house to the other. "Deal with it!" Was the response he received as Sparrow once again disappeared to tear apart his things.

Reaver shifted, the stair he was currently sitting on not the most comfortable thing for reclining. He rested his back against the wall, crossing his arms as he eyed his furry babysitter. Sergeant Smiles was, for whatever reason, perched on the railing of the banister, gazing down at him in that eerie way balverines had. How he managed such a feet on the slanted surface wasn't as much of a mystery as Reaver wanted it to be, as he could see the claw marks from where he sat. In fact, he'd seen such marks in numerous places, making him wonder where the beast had been perched when they'd first 'met'. Boredom made him ask, although whether he was understood was another matter.

Sergeant Smiles cocked his head, then leapt upwards, much to Reaver's surprise. The light creak of wood drew his eyes upward to see Smiles perched on the banister that stretched between the two staircases. He was dead center, exactly across from the door in fact.

"How _peculiar._ Can you actually _understand _me?"

The balverine grunted, then leapt easily back to his earlier position. Reaver eyed him warily, not entirely sure if the grunt had been an affirmative, or if the beast was simply entertaining itself. He'd have to test this further.

"Hm, I'm not quite sure I _believe _you. You are a balverine after all, so my suspicions are, _understandable._ How about a little, ah, _test _hm?" He paused, watching Smiles intently in the hopes of reading him. As far as he could tell, the balverine was, at the very least, listening to him, and since there was no one else around who could _mistake_this for madness on his part, Reaver continued. "I'll make it easy, you see that plant over there on the table? That ugly little thing in the blue pot? Hm, do you know what blue _is_? I'm not in fact aware if balverines can see _colors_ or not…Ah, anyway, why don't you, oh I don't know, _remove _it from it's holdings and place it on _that _banister directly in front of the door?"

Smiles had seemed to be following him well enough, but Reaver still had his reservations. He _was _a balverine after all.

Slinking easily over to the aforementioned herb(which looked like something he'd actually seen in Samarkand, now that he thought about it), Smiles picked it up, turned it over a few times, then glanced at Reaver. The pirate waited, and not a moment later, the balverine was perched on the second floor railing, trying to balance the pot on the banister between his legs.

Needless to say, Reaver was, well, _floored_. Granted, he'd meant for plant and pot to be removed of one another, but one couldn't be too picky.

Smiles came to rest on his perch across from Reaver, and if the pirate didn't know any better, he would have said the beast had quite a smug grin on his face.

"Well well well, aren't you the _clever _little beastie. Lets see if we can't make this _harder, _shall we?"

xx

Sparrow sighed. It'd taken a hell of a lot longer than he would have liked to ensure he didn't wake up with a bullet in the head, but Reaver had 'acquired' an awful lot of shit. Statues, tapestries, rugs, boxes of odds and ends, you name it, he had it. Not all of it was foreign either, which meant there was at least one new ship without a captain somewhere. Or worse. Surprisingly enough, there hadn't been as many weapons as he had expected, but then again, Reaver did so love his Dragonstomper. Er, Dragonstomp_ers._ He did have five of the damn things after all(all of which had been hidden away for obvious reasons), as well as a few others that had been hung up like trophies.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, deciding that hiding the weapons could wait until the morning. When the pirate was asleep, and thus unable to 'accidentally' see where his precious firearms had been 'stored for safekeeping'.

As he got closer to the landing overlooking the foyer, the sound of the aforementioned pirate's voice caught his attention. He couldn't make out what was being said, but just the fact that Reaver was speaking with someone brought his guard up. His step quickened, bringing him to the main stairway in no time.

What he saw as he caught sight of the floor below would forever be ingrained in his head.

xx

"No no no, that's the _Gin_, you see? Right there? On the label? Yes, _words_, do you remember them? I mean _really_, illiteracy aside this isn't that hard. Oh don't look at me like that, if you weren't color blind we could have been past this _ages_ago." Reaver motioned for the balverine to try again, setting the bottle of gin next to it's fellows in failed attempts. At this point, they'd go through the liquor cabinet in all it's entirety before the beast got it right. As it was, the floor surrounding the stairs Reaver was(still) sitting on hosted a marvelous array of bottles, none of which held the particular substance he wanted.

"What are you doing?"

Reaver drug his gaze away from the colorful display at his feet to look boredly up at the gypsy. "Hm? Oh _this_?" He gestured towards the spirits. "Why nothing, _really, _just a little exercise in _learning_."

He watched Sparrow's mouth open, a _witty _response surely, but something of far more importance caught his attention. Sergeant Smiley stopped before him, offering the bottle currently being strangled in his harry grip. Sadly, this too was not the requested item, and thus found itself on the floor with more than half of it's cabinet companions.

The sound of porcelain and dirt crashing to the floor drew the gaze of both man and monster. The potted plant that Reaver had, admittedly, forgotten about, was now scattered about the floor with the rest of Sparrows mess. Fitting, since he was apparently the one whom had knocked it over.

"Why was that plant up here? Fuck…" The gypsy surveyed the floor below him wearily. It looked downright dreadful, and he was obviously not looking forward to the task before him.

"Did you know, my dear boy, that that beast of yours has, in fact, retained a marginally functional knowledge of the human language? Illiteracy aside, of course…" Reaver toyed with one of the bottles nearest him, watching the hero through his bangs. Smiles had again gone to try his luck at bottle roulette.

"Well, yea, I guessed as much since he does tend to listen to me…But what the hell are you two _doing?"_Sparrow was now coming down the stairs, prompting Reaver to stretch languidly across them.

"Whiling away my time banished to the foyer, what else?"

Sparrow stopped on the step above Reaver, eyeing the pirate, the bottles, and the general disarray of the room at large. "So 'whiling away the time' includes turning all the pictures upside down as well?"

Reaver cast a glance at the reversed paintings. "As a matter of fact it _does,_ oddly enough."

Sparrow made an annoyed sort of noise, before leaping gracefully over the banister. Apparently he didn't want to attempt jumping over the Thief Prince. Smart of him, really, as Reaver had been planning on doing something decidedly _nasty_ should he have tried.

"And I assume you have no plans what so ever to 'un-while' your time?" He made a vague gesture, more at the bottles then anything, as he walked off towards the study.

"Why of _course_ not! It's _your _house after all." Reaver shot the gypsy a smug grin, before slowly pulling himself to his feet and stretching. Staircases really were uncomfortable things to recline on.

Sparrow eyed him from the doorway, watching as he picked his way through the multicolored sea of bottles. "Right, 'course, how silly of me to even think such a thing."

Reaver flashed him a chesire grin. "Sarcasm hardly suits you, Sparrow dear."

"Gee thanks Theresa, I'll keep that in mind." Sparrow disappeared into the study, Reaver right behind him. It was the last place he had to check(aside from the Rear Passage, which he'd decided he would just block for the time being) before he could go to bed. He would deal with the whole cleaning thing in the morning.

Reaver placed himself in his favorite chair, glad for the warmth filling up the room now that the door had been shut. He hadn't been lying about the draft in the foyer. Without a shirt it was bloody chilly.

Smiles was still rooting around in the liquor cabinet, apparently determined to finally get it right. Not that there were a lot of choices left but still, it was the principle of the thing. With what could have been a sound of triumph, the balverine removed it's limbs from the ornate furnishing.

Reaver watched him lope easily over, proffering his latest choice with a cock of his head. The pirate took it boredly, tilting the label towards the firelight to better see what it was, exactly. And wouldn't you know, it was the right damn bottle. "Well, it seems the, twenty third? Twenty fourth? Yes, twenty fourth. The twenty fourth time's the charm ey? Not that there were many left to choose from in that _particular _cabinet, but, well you know, small victories." He gestured for the balverine to fetch him a glass, to which Smiles complied. Picking off the stray hair or two, Reaver at long last poured himself a drink.

"Just because you've realized he's not a mindless beast doesn't mean you can use him as your own personal servant."

Reaver glanced at the gypsy over the rim of the glass. "Don't you have _contraband items_ to be searching for? Because as much as I love sitting around _shirtless _after spending the day wandering _Wraithmarsh, _I really would rather go to _bed_, if it's all the same to you." He kept his tone light, but gave the gypsy a hard, pointed look.

"I'm serious Reaver."

"As am I. Now, if you're done searching my _quarters_, I think it's high time I retire for the evening." To punctuate his point Reaver stood and sauntered to the door. He made a point to bring both his glass, and the bottle of spirits.

Sparrow scowled at the retreating back. "Reaver." He waited until the pirate(surprisingly enough) paused at the door before issuing his warning. "If more of your friends just _happen_ to show up, I _will_ kill them."

Reaver raised a brow at the seriousness of the tone, before slipping on his usual smirk. "If you must. Although I'll have you know, they aren't actually my _friends_. I believe the term _minions _would suit them quite nicely, in fact." He gazed thoughtfully at nothing for a moment before turning back towards the foyer, mumbling various alternatives to see which, if any, took his fancy. As an after thought he waved languidly, offering up a "Ta!" before disappearing from sight.

Sparrow exhaled loudly, before quietly instructing Smiles to watch Reaver for the rest of the night. He may have searched the house over, but that didn't mean he was ready to trust the pirate to his own devices_._

* * *

Oh Reaver, as much as I admire your enthusiasm, I highly doubt a balverine would make a good servant. Colorblind, illiterate, _and _lacking in human genitalia? Er, well, certain, ah, _discoveries_ in the 'pleasure chamber' may make my point moot...but I'm not sure if I want to go there. In fact, let's pretend this conversation never happened.

next up: a bit of party crashing. Granted, one does technically need a 'party' to crash, but the phrase fits well enough I suppose. After all, it is, as Reaver would say, semantics.

Until then loves, ta! (and happy booze, ball, and turkey day(as the men-folk would say) to all that celebrate it. And those who don't. I'll force my holiday wishes on everyone, EVERYONE.)

deadpan riot


	4. MidNight Rumble

Chapter 4: Mid-Night Rumble

Reaver experiences a wild and crazy night of the kind he's not so fond of.

* * *

Reaver ascended the stairs to the second floor slowly, sipping the sweet, sweet alcohol as he went. He was pointedly ignoring the damage below him, having almost convinced himself that it was Sparrow's manor, and therefore his problem. _Almost. _

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, signaling he was no longer alone. Reaver cast a glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raising at the sight of his new companion. "You know, I do believe that since our little venture you've spent more time shadowing me then that 'master' of yours. Why not bother _him _for awhile hm? Wouldn't want him to get _jealous_ of me getting all your attention."

Smiles continued to follow him in silence, eyes trained on the pirate's head. Reaver sighed. "Very well, if you must, follow away. However I advise you not to get it into that furry little head of yours that we are anything other than captive and captor. Gods forbid you find yourself under the notion that you and I are _friends_." He threw the balverine a condescending look as he turned to enter his room. The balverine snorted, unceremoniously pushing his way past the pirate before he'd managed to get the door closed.

"And just _what _do you think you're doing?" Reaver eyed the white monstrosity currently padding circles about his room. Being followed everywhere was one thing, having his inhuman stalker sleeping in his room was another. "As much as I _adore _your company, I think it would be better for all if you were to sleep on the _other _side of this door. See? This here?" He moved the door back and forth a bit, then pointed lazily at the creature. "You-" He pointed out into the hallway. "Go out there. Am I being clear enough?"

Apparently he wasn't, as instead of doing as he'd been told, Smiles stopped his pacing to stand insolently next to the foot of the bed. Knocking back the rest of his drink, Reaver strode swiftly back out into the hall, moving to lean casually against the railing. "Oh Sparrow, love, do be a dear and come get that beast of yours _out_ of my room."

Sparrow visibly jumped, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to look up at him. "What?"

"Come now, don't play coy with me."

Sparrow huffed. "I'm not bloody playing _anything_ with you Reaver. _What _do you _want_?"

"Oooh, touchy are we?" All he got in response was a murderous look, and decided that, being unarmed, he should at least attempt to meet his jailer halfway. Well, halfway to halfway anyway. "Your pet. My room. Out."

The gypsy gave him a confused look, before shaking his head and swiftly climbing the stairs. "You know, for a man of such _refined_ language and all that, sometimes I can't figure out what the hell your trying to get at. Y'shud work on that."

Reaver huffed indignantly as Sparrow strode past him. "Well perhaps that's the _problem_. Your uneducated mind simply can't process the level of intellect I have to offer. Shall I dumb it down for you?" He paused, waiting for a reaction that never came, then continued on anyway. "Tha' pe' ah yers be in me ro'um Spahrah. Ge' I' ou'."

Sparrow stopped, turned, and looked at him with a blank stare that was both comical and informative. Apparently, he'd used the wrong plebeian dialect.

"I think you may have dumbed it down a little too far."

Reaver waved the statement off, walking slowly towards the hero so as not to put him on guard. "Yes, well, it _has _been ages since speech so unrefined has passed from these lips, and I dare say I may be a bit _rusty_. However be that as it may, I was still being _quite _straight forward with you, and yet I am no closer to alleviating my _problem _then when this conversation started 10 minutes ago. Now," He grabbed Sparrow by the shirt and proceeded to pull him along as one would a wayward pet. If he couldn't get the point across through words, then he'd have to go the nonverbal route used primarily on uncomprehending children.

The pirate lord stopped just short of his doorway, pushing the younger man ahead of him so as to give him an unobstructed view. "Do you notice something that _does not belong_?"

Sparrow looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked at the semi-furious man that had shoved him into the enclosed space. "No. What exactly is it I'm supposed to be seeing?"

Reaver stepped around the hero, gesturing with more force than was really necessary at the furry intruder. "_That_. Kindly remove it from my room, or I will be forced to do so _myself_."

Smiles looked innocently between the two of them, curling himself up tighter amidst the nest of blankets he had made for himself in the center of Reaver's bed. His eerie yellow eyes met those of his master, head cocking as if in question.

Sparrow walked lightly to the bed, offering the beast a gentle pat on the head before turning to a now very annoyed Reaver. "He stays, Reaver. He can't watch you if he can't see you."

"Of course he can, it's not as if I can _go_ anywhere, what with this room lacking a _window_."

"My point still stands, pirate. He stays. Deal with it." With that, Sparrow turned and made his way to the door.

"Well then at _least _get him off my _bed_."

The gypsy made a vague gesture over his shoulder. "Sorry _love_ but I fail to see how that's _my_ problem." He cast a mischievous glance back into the room. "Pleasant dreams, Reaver."

He continued to stare at the space Sparrow had just moments ago occupied, looking as though he'd just been slapped across the face. Not only had he been denied, but he'd been _mocked._ He turned slowly towards the Sergeant, who was watching him through half-lidded eyes. "_You_."

A yelp, a thud, and a great deal of cursing followed the grinning hero of Bowerstone all the way to his room. It didn't bother him in the least that it sounded like the two of them were trashing yet another part of his manor. In fact, envisioning the great hero of skill trying(and failing) to chase a balverine from his room, unarmed and half naked, lifted his spirits quite a bit. Maybe if he was lucky it would serve to help humble the pirate, although he wasn't holding his breath on that one.

xxxxxxxxx

Reaver shifted, kicking out in an attempt to get more comfortable. He was met with a half-cocked growl and a jerk of what he assumed to be a shoulder. Scowling, he rolled into a new position and gave the blanket a tug, hoping to free some of it for his own use. Unfortunately it didn't move an inch, the weight pinning it exceeding his strength. All he got for his trouble was a gravely huff and a smack to the shin. Grumbling unintelligibly, Reaver flipped himself over as violently as was possible, jamming his one and only pillow over his head in an attempt to block out reality. Specifically that he was _not_ sleeping in the same bed as a certain blanket hogging balverine, was _not_ being forced to scrunch into a peculiar angle because the aforementioned beast refused to move from where it was currently sprawled, and most importantly that he _had not_ been bested in his initial fight for his damn privacy. Needless to say, the large, warm lump causing the mattress to sag and the bed frame to occasionally protest was effectively thwarting his attempts. "Bloody balverine…."

The Sergeant yawned, the snap of his jaws closing prompting another jab from the bed's other occupant. His response was to roll over onto his back, landing him right atop at least half of Reaver. A string of colorful cursing and violent flailing convinced the stubborn balverine to revert to his previous position.

The second he felt the weight pinning him leave, Reaver threw his protesting body into a sitting position, his back colliding with the headboard somewhat painfully. A crash across the room drew his attention, and after a bit of blank staring, his mind registered what'd caused the noise. He looked down at the hand which had previously been clutching the pillow to his head, wondering when exactly he'd thrown it. And, for that matter, what it was he'd just managed to break.

He eyed the white creature with disdain. "Don't give me that _innocent_ look, this is entirely _your_ fault." He made a vague motion in the direction of the whatever it was that'd broken. The balverine blinked drowsily before burying his head back between his forearms. Exasperation searing away any thoughts of sleep from his mind, Reaver flipped the covers from his legs and climbed moodily from his allotted space.

Smiles dislodged most of the blanket from his head where it'd settled with a shake, one blazing eye fixed to the retreating back. The pirate was rifling through dresser drawers, more than likely in search of a shirt.

"Hmpf. Gone for less then a decade to come home and find all of my things _replaced_." He released his grip on the sleeve of a rather depressing looking black peasant shirt before closing the drawer with a sharp click. Eyeing the cocooned balverine, an idea came to him. "You know, I _was _rather fond of the way our dear Sparrow clothed himself when he first appeared on my doorstep…" Yes, he mused, the Hero certainly had had a flare for turning heads, back before the world no longer had a use for him.

Smiles huffed, stretching his jaws unseemly wide in a yawn before disappearing beneath the scarlet bedcovers.

With an undignified roll of his eyes, Reaver sashayed out into the hallway, humming tunelessly and wondering if a lack of sleep was getting to him. He made it to Sparrow's room(aka _his_ room) without running into any rearranged furniture in the dark. Foregoing formalities such as knocking, he waltzed into the darkened room, pausing to take in his surroundings. Sparrow had changed little in the manor itself, but here he truly saw the hero's influence. His bright scarlet and gold color scheme had been replaced with one of onyx and deep crimson, the pictures and trophies replaced with monstrous bookcases and armoires. The large bed was closer to the wall-consuming window then he remembered, and was no longer sporting his signature bedding, now currently drowning a certain balverine. The bed itself was empty, putting the pirate on alert. A quick glance around verified his solidarity in the room, something which Reaver immediately took advantage of. Within moments he was sifting through the nearest unlocked armoire, only slightly put off by the lack of weapons hidden within.

"What are you doing, Reaver?"

Said pirate jumped, not having heard the hero enter. However he quickly regained his cool, glancing coyly over his shoulder while continuing to thumb through the glorified closet. "Why Sparrow dear, I was wondering where you'd gotten off to. You really should be getting some beauty sleep; Why, is that a _wrinkle_?"

The hero rolled his eyes, moving to drop listlessly onto his bed with a sigh. "I'm not in the bloody mood, Reaver. Take whatever the hell you're after and go away."

The pirate paused, looking, really looking at the man gazing tiredly at him. The hero was slumped forward, leaning his forearms on his thighs. And for the first time since the man had waltzed into his parlor all those years ago, the hero looked well, _human_. For the first time Reaver read weariness in the usually strong posture, the eerie crimson eyes dulled over, fiery passion absent. It unnerved him, a bit.

"Come now, is that any way to treat a guest?"

"You're a guest now? Hmpf. Whatever you're trying to pull, it's fairly transparent. I think you're the one who needs to go to bed."

Reaver pulled a random garment out to inspect, grinning cheekily down at the red dress shirt as he spoke. "Well why not join me hm? Kill two birds with one stone…or something like that." He ran his fingers suggestively over the silky fabric as he glanced up to catch the other man's reaction.

Sparrow let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "It seems even lack of sleep can't sidetrack that dirty mind of yours. Take it and the damned shirt and go back to your own room."

Throwing on the shirt carelessly, Reaver stalked slowly towards the bed, watching the eyes watching him. "My my, what _has _become of my dear little bird? Where's all that _fire_ I remember? Hm? The proud, blood soaked Hero that blew into my home on the head winds of a tempest?"

Reaver stopped in front of the hero, watched as the dull gaze slid off to the side to stare at nothing.

"Gone."

"Gone? Where?" He slid easily into the smooth tone he used on wenches and particularly nasty opponents alike.

Sparrow's eyes hardened, sparking momentarily. "Dead."

The thief raised a brow at the harsh voice, genuinely curious. "_Really_? And how is that, exactly? You seem to be quite alive. I should know, being that I've ended so many…lives, that is."

Sparrow glanced moodily at him before staring fixedly at a blank piece of wall.

Perching lightly next to the now disgruntled hero, Reaver prodded further without a thought to the fact that the man could burn the whole bleeding place down without lifting a finger. "Here now, tell uncle Reaver what happened to the big bad Black Banshee."

Referring to the old title worked exactly as Reaver had planned it would. Sparrow turned his head to look up at the thief through his hair. "You really have to ask?"

"How would one know anything if they didn't?"

Normally there would have been some sort of humored response, but this time his remark was, for the most part, ignored. "Reaver, I haven't been that person since the night you introduced me to the Shadow Court. After that…well, I went back to being just…Sparrow. When I came back, I held onto his ghost just long enough to finish what Lucien started. If it had been the Black Banshee in the Spire, there would have been far fewer people here today, and far more ghosts. People hailed it as the unveiling of a heart they believed that man, that Hero had. But really, they were celebrating his timely death."

Reaver was quiet for longer then he was accustomed to, mulling over the confession of sorts. Curiosity sprung up amidst his ponderings, and he found himself speaking before he could twist the words in his usual way. "What _would_ he have chosen?"

"Love. The loss of my sister…The need for revenge was what fueled me, what made me into the person they dubbed the 'Black Banshee'." The statement was delivered softly to the carpet, plunging them again into momentary silence.

Reaver made to say something, but found himself cut off as the hero shook his head and beat him to the punch.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. You got your shirt, now leave me alone. Go pretend to be compassionate someplace else."

Reaver feigned hurt at the cold comment, but was silenced with a look. The threatening flare of the fire in the hearth had a bit to do with it as well. He stood smoothly, walking silently to the door where he stopped to look back at the man now staring at the yet-again dying fire. "I'll leave, but if you want to _talk_ later, well. You know where to find me." He threw as much innuendo into his words as he could without breaking his 'caring' tone.

Sparrow waved dismissively, turning to lay with his back to the door to accentuate his particular feelings on the matter.

With a shrug that was more for his own benefit than anything, Reaver retreated back into the hall. And was met with a furry wall that, oddly enough, smelled faintly of ginger of all things. Taking a step back, he turned his gaze up to the furry muzzle, and the unnaturally bright orbs above it. "Finally vacated my bed, have you? If I had known all it would take was annoying your master, I would have done it ages ago." He moved around the beast as he spoke, fully intent on claiming back his sleeping place.

He heard the balverine turn, silently hoping the creature would decide to leave him be in favor of his master. But alas, no sooner had the thought formed in his mind did the sound of claws padding over carpeting reach his ears. He picked up his pace, managing to make it to his destination before his furry shadow could follow. Upon closing the door, he realized it locked only from the outside(not one of his better ideas, it would seem) Thinking quickly, he went to grab a chair to shove under the door knob. Perhaps a dresser for good measure. He laid hands on the chair only to hear the door creak open behind him.

"Oh for Avo's sake…"

He swiveled, crossing his arms and glaring at the smarter-then-average monster who, he realized, was almost too large to fit through the doorway. It would have been funny, if the creature wasn't annoying him so at the moment. "And here I thought you not being a complete buffoon would be entertaining. Apparently, I was wrong."

Smiles maneuvered himself into the room, to which Reaver sighed, exasperated, and moved to throw himself onto the vacant bed. Stretching out on his back, the thief drew an arm over his eyes. "At least close the door behind you."

His response was a deafening, if muffled, boom that rattled anything not nailed down.

The pirate's body jolted upwards on pure instinct before he could even register what had happened, eyes snapping to the hallway. Without pausing to remember he was unarmed and running on very little sleep, Reaver found his legs carrying him swiftly out into the hall, Smiles right behind him.

The scent of burnt wood and explosives found it's way to his nose, the closer he got to the main hallway (who's railings overlooked both the den and the parlor), the thicker the air got. Turning a corner, he was met with the sight of a positively feral looking Sparrow, sword drawn and eyes blazing. He caught himself pausing under the glare leveled at him, before it moved to the chaos below. Without breaking stride, the hero threw himself over the railing, seconds later the sound of cursing and clanging echoed up to him.

Reaver made it to the rails, casting his first glance to the den, where he knew the explosion must have come from. Sure enough, the hidden doorway to his rear passage was no more then a smoking hole in the wall, scorched books littering the floor, amongst other things.

When he turned his attention to the parlor, he was met with the sight of a sea of bodies, writhing here and there as if caught in the grips of a storm. Sweeping his eyes over the scene, he quickly found the source of the tumult. It came in the form of whirling white and singing steel, the hurricane that threw the waves about as it pleased..

The hero's lithe form moved with a cat like grace that his clunkier opponents couldn't hope to match, limbs moving to the tune of the violence, ducking around one attacker to assault another.

Reaver grabbed the railing, leaning over it enough to un-obscure his vision without looking too interested in the affair below. Although truthfully he was, entranced by the deadly whirling dervish Sparrow had become. He hadn't seen the man fight with anything other then his pistol since the confrontation with Lucien's men on the beach, and at the time he'd been rather too occupied to pay more than a passing glance when they found themselves within an arms length. But now, to see it from on high as his men went down one by one, was like a punch to the gut, reminding him how deadly the man was, behind the odd behavior and semi-insane tendencies.

"Note to self: Never challenge Sparrow to a sword fight…or get within an arm's reach of those nasty pieces of metal…"

"Cap'n!"

Reaver spun to face the man that had made it up the stairs, more then a few of his mates right behind him. Deafening shots that could only come from one pistol rang out, the men at the back of the group on the stairs dropping in quick succession. By the time he'd managed to find Sparrow in the chaos, the Red Dragon was back in it's holster, both of the hero's hands occupied with katanas yet again.

He turned back to his men, whom were advancing toward where he stood. The man at the front, who's name escaped the pirate at the moment, pulled a second pistol from his coat and made to throw it to him. Before it could leave his hand, the man was bowled over by a snarling mass of white fur. As Reaver looked on, the rest of the men found themselves eviscerated with little fanfare.

Smiles turned to face the thief, the bloodied balverine a truly fearsome sight compared to the passive giant Reaver had become familiar with. The Sergeant stalked silently to the Pirate King's side, a living, breathing, barrier between him and the men who'd come to free him from his 'imprisonment'.

Resigning himself to his crew's failure, Reaver went back to leaning on the railing, taking stock of the damage. Most of the men lay either dead or dying, the few still on their feet exerting all their energy just to keep their limbs intact. Though he was disappointed, he couldn't say he was surprised.

"Well as fun as all _this_ has been, I think it's time to cut our losses." He watched as his men tried to juggle paying attention to their captain, and fending off the Hero of Bowerstone. Dropping his chin onto his fist, Reaver added more of a point to his tone. "Well? I _know _you heard me." He waved lazily toward the door. "Shoo! Be gone! Live to be slaughtered another day, as they say."

The few remaining men looked from him to one another, before shouting out various versions of 'yes sir' and doing their best to high tail it out the front door without loosing any vital body parts.

Reaver turned his gaze back to Sparrow, who was standing stock still in the middle of the graveyard he had single handedly created, face upturned to look silently at him. Reaver grinned lasciviously back. "Well wasn't that fun. Bit of mid-night exercise to get the blood _flowing_." He chuckled softly at his own words, pointedly ignoring the gory maw currently breathing on him.

With a scowl, Sparrow stuck his sword between the ribs of the pleading man at his feet swiftly, and pointedly. Apparently, he wasn't as amused as the thief. Flicking the blood from the blades at his side, they found their sheaths as their owner stalked off towards the hole in the wall. The hero made a vague gesture to his pet, who immediately leapt down into the den.

As Reaver looked on in mock boredom, Sparrow disappeared down the rear passage while Smiles grabbed hold of the nearest bodies and began hauling them out into the courtyard, where the pirate had a sneaking suspicion they'd be dumped over the cliffs into the waiting sea below.

"OY! THE BLOODY 'ELL 'AVE I TOLD YOU! NOT IN THE HOUSE!"

Reaver blinked, having been lost in thoughts of the usefulness of cliffs when it came to disposing of unwanted…evidence. Sparrow had reappeared, and was currently stomping towards a very guilty looking balverine, motioning wildly towards the front door.

"BLOODY EAT THE FUCKERS _OUTSIDE!_"

Smiles opened his jaws, the thigh he'd been munching on as he worked falling with a squishy thump between master and monster.

"Ugh, great, now I have to clean up balverine slobber on top of everything else. Thank you, Smiles."

Reaver chuckled, greatly amused at how swiftly the man's mood could change. Not to mention the way it seemed as if cleaning up a mass of bodies from the parlor was an everyday occurrence for the two. That right there said something, although what, exactly, he wasn't quite sure.

He watched as the two disappeared outside, deeming then an appropriate time for him to slip away, barricade the door to his chambers, and sprawl out amidst his, probably hair covered, bedclothes.

"Not so fast, '_Pirate King'_!"

Reaver cringed, slowly turning to look back at the hero, who was standing in the doorway motioning for him to join in the festivities.

"Your men means it's your damn mess too. Get your ass down here and help me chuck them into the rocks below the cliff where they belong."

* * *

I've got to say, writing this has been amusing me greatly. I've got more ideas for putting Reaver through semi-degrading situations then I can, at the moment, fit into the vague plot I've outlined for this. So, not being one to stifle my own, er, personal brand of creativity, I've decided to create a sort of spin off story thing in which to put them all. Sort of a, everyday life with a "room mate with a dog" kind of thing. If you see it, and want to add to the fun and/or mayhem, feel free to throw me ideas!

deadpan-riot


	5. the end, the begining

a/n: well this is it, the final chapter of The Sergeant. My brain morphed this into something that had plot, and more seriousness then I originally was planning. And so, I end it here, a prelude to a fic this simple little thing gave me the inspiration for(which is currently still being written.) I've had fun writing this light hearted little story of a hero, a pirate, and the balverine that forced them together, and to everyone who read, reviewed, and enjoyed, it's been a pleasure. For those interested, the next more serious part of this will simply be titled 'The White Balverine', and will follow Reaver, Sparrow, and Smiles on their quest for the crown.

Chapter 5: The End, the Begining  
Reaver learns that fate isn't quite as done with him, or Sparrow, as he would have liked.

* * *

Reaver stretched, arching his back until his spine cracked. They'd been cleaning for hours, much to his disdain, leaving his limbs leaden and his mind filled with fantasies of feather-down pillows. The sounds of Sparrow knocking things back into place wafted in through the open door of the den, where he was currently finishing up. With a sigh, he went back to shoving books back onto the shelf in front of him.

Pulling a book off the considerable pile at his feet, the pirate did a double take, something quite obviously _not_ a dusty old tome(really, where _did _Sparrow find all those musty things?) catching his eye. Tossing the book in hand onto the bookcase, he snatched the object from its messy little hiding place. It looked vaguely familiar, the nearly electric cold permeating the thing reminding him of his own little object de art.

"Well what have we here?"

Barely had the words left his mouth when the world went white.

"Welcome, Prince of Thieves."

Reaver blinked, a frown marring his features as recognition of the voice invaded his once pleasant thoughts. "Oh wonderful, if it isn't Sparrow's blind little seeress. Concocted another lovely plan to meddle with my life have you?"

The blinding white light fell away, revealing the cloaked woman. She was wearing the same little smirk she had been the night he first met her. "I simply do as fate demands, Reaver."

"Of _course _you do." He absently pretended to inspect his nails, far too tired to play mind games with the old hag.

"I'm surprised; usually you would have demanded to know why I brought you here, and what you could get out of it." There was an odd hint of humor lacing her usual misty voice.

"Hm?" He glanced at her. "Oh that. Well, I assumed you'd tell me _eventually_. You do _so_ love to hear yourself spout nonsense."

"Tactile as ever I see. " Theresa chuckled softly. "You want Sparrow out of your house, correct?"

"Obviously."

"I have a solution. The Hero is destined to become King of Albion, but he cannot do it alone. Aid him in this endeavor, and your mansion will be returned to you."

With a snort, he turned his attention back to the eerie woman. "My my, is _that _all? Well, let me just snap my fingers and make it happen, shall I?"

"I am quite serious. The road to uniting Albion will be long and hard, but it must be done. If it is not, then all you know will come to an end, and your sacrifices will have been for not. Of all the Heroes, you are the one with the most to lose."

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed that once more she was dangling the shadow court above his head. As if it wasn't annoying enough the first time. "Alright then, say I do go along yet again with your meddlesome plotting. How, pray-tell, does one even go about such a thing? I highly doubt standing on a crate and declaring oneself King will get you anywhere."

"The answer lies in Snowspire."

"Of _course _it does. And I assume that the Sandgoose will be the one to give us said answer?"

Theresa just smiled that strange little smile at him. "Good luck, Reaver."

Before he could properly berate her further, his vision was flooded with white light, and Theresa and the Spire where gone.

He gave the Spire figurine in his hand a nasty glare before shoving it in a corner of the shelf he was once again standing before. He was hardly in the mood to deal with the woman and her need to orchestrate fate, especially when it involved him. "Snowspire indeed…"

"Talking to yourself again Reaver?"

Tensing up, the pirate pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Yes, I do believe I was. Perhaps I'm beginning to go crazy, all this _manual labor_ and no sleep."

Sparrow dropped gracelessly into the squishy cushions of the room's only couch, meeting Reaver's gaze boredly as the pirate turned to face him. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you had your men tear the house apart. You seem to bring these things upon yourself."

Face falling blank despite his rising ire, Reaver stalked slowly toward the hero, sending books and bits of debris skittering as he kicked them from his path with the restrained movements of a nobleman. "I bring these things upon myself do I?" Standing directly before the unmoved Hero, Reaver leant down until they were face to face, hands on the couch back to both hold himself at the awkward angle, and pin Sparrow. "Did it never occur to you that you brought this upon yourself?"

A thin, pale brow slowly arched, despite the unmoving expression of its owner. "Not really, no. Why should I have?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe by commandeering my home for starters? And let's not forget who refused to leave upon the return of the manor's master."

"Still sounds like you. I told you, I bought it so this place is mine. What I don't get, is why you don't go find another place to establish a reign of terror? I figured this place would have begun to bore you by now. And it's not like returning for your beauty treatments would be much of a hassle."

The couch creaked as Reaver's grip tightened. Even if Sparrow was even marginally right, the point was moot. This was his home, damn it, and he would only give it up on his terms. Of which this most decidedly was not.

Mentally reigning in his ever-surfacing anger, Reaver relaxed his grip, putting on his best pouty face. "But how could it bore me? The groveling of the people, the constant need to watch one's back! Not to mention being an idle location for…various transactions."

"I can only imagine."

"Besides, what could one such as you possibly see in this place? I thought you'd forgone your more…_entertaining_ lifestyle for one that better befits the _people_?"

He watched as the eyes before him darkened, that and a small frown the only sign his words had an effect on the supposedly ever-cheerful, unflappable Hero of Bowerstone.

When Sparrow finally spoke, his voice was low and restrained, only audible due to the proximity they shared. "What I was, who I _am _has _no place _in this conversation concerning your petty grievances."

Reaver leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, his own voice dropping to match Sparrows. "And yet such things concerning me _do_? My dear boy, you truly are the king of double standards."

The frown deepened into a scowl, transforming the labeled hero beneath him into the man he remembered. The one he'd watched beat a banshee at its own game, the one who'd fought viciously for both their lives, who'd earned his place by the pirate's side in battle.

Here was the true Hero of Bowerstone, the one the people refused to acknowledge. The thief, the killer, the beautifully flawed _human_.

"_Hardly_. I bring up only what you personally saw fit to subject me to."

"And yet you are hardly worse for wear, from something so integral that _binds_ us, two men wearing masks…"

Sparrow's eyes slid away from his own, boring into his sleeve instead. Reaver shifted until he could ease his knees onto the cushion on either side of the hero. There was no response, violent or otherwise at the intimate position he'd finagled them into.

"Now, why don't we find a more _appealing_ way to settle this little conflict of ours?" He'd dropped his voice into a purr, moving to speak directly against the other man's ear. At the same time his hand left its perch as discreetly as possible, sliding down to drift near their thighs. He watched the muscles in Sparrow's neck strain as he clenched his jaw, a self satisfied smirk sliding onto his lips.

"Reaver…"

"Hm?"

Without warning a hand latched around his wrist just as his fingers brushed their prize. Reaver winced, although if it was from being caught in the act, or from the force being exerted by the slender fingers even he wasn't sure.

Sparrow's gaze returned to him as he pulled back, the fire there laced with humor and something else he couldn't fathom that was just the slightest bit terrifying. "Did you honestly think that would work?"

He glanced down as his hand was pulled away from the gun strapped to the hero's thigh, eyebrow raising as he quickly worked to cover his tracks. "Not particularly, but I was rather hoping it would. Having been unable to properly _greet_ my fans, thanks to you I might add, I thought perhaps you would be willing to give me the pleasure of your _company_." Flashing a seductive smile, he pushed a stray lock of hair away from the hero's face.

The crimson eyes narrowed, giving Reaver just enough warning to not be overly startled when Sparrow's free hand shot out, wound itself tightly in the front of his shirt, and roughly yanked him forward. The hero seemed not to notice that Reaver had been pulled fully into his lap, leg brushing against the pistol now completely and utterly out of his reach.

"Quite playing games Reaver, you should have realized by now I know you well enough to realize when you're trying to be a manipulative bastard. And I really don't appreciate you thinking you can seduce me then kill me with my own pistol. Do it again and you'll be needing a peg leg."

Before he could protest or make some snide comment about the position they were in, Sparrow shoved him away with surprising force. He landed rather painfully on his backside, shock rooting him there as the hero stood and stepped easily around him. Needless to say, he had become quite unaccustomed to such treatment.

The soft footsteps stopped near the door, the sound of rustling fur signaling the arrival of the Sergeant. He picked himself up carefully from the floor as the hero spoke gently to the beast, ignoring the eyes of the balverine as they danced between the two humans.

Theresa's idiotic plot pushed its way into his head, forcing him to consider his options. He could keep going as he was, hoping Sparrow would slip up, or he could do as the old coot demanded and somehow magically make the man king.

Or he could take him to sea and push him overboard.

"Come on Smiles, why don't we go get breakfast, hm?"

Reaver opened his mouth, fully intent on having the last word, only to close it when he realized he had no idea what to say. Not when his plan consisted solely on leaving the hero at sea, with no real idea of how to get him there.

Sparrow shooed Smiles ahead of him, leaving without so much as a backward glance in the pirate's direction. Reaver listened as the two made their way through the front parlor, only relaxing at the sound of the door opening and then closing behind them. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he cast a glance about the room, eyes landing finally on the innocuous little statue tucked away in the bookshelf.

Xxxxxx

It was late in the afternoon when Sparrow and his pet returned, the sound of their movements disturbing the silence that had settled over the manor in the last few hours. Reaver didn't bother moving, knowing Sparrow would find him eventually. He took another sip of wine, eyes following the sounds echoing through the walls.

It didn't take long before the door to the kitchen swung open, Sparrow standing still in the doorway as the two locked eyes. He gave the hero a half smile over the rim of his glass, motioning for him to join him at the small table by the window.

Sparrow was obviously wary, but conceded none the less, taking the chair across from the pirate. "Reaver."

"Sparrow."

He watched the sharp gaze skim over the table, taking in the wine bottle, glasses, maps, and various other odds and ends he'd dumped onto its surface.

"What are you doing?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you and I can have a civil conversation."

Sparrow snorted, eyeing Reaver as if he was about to grow horns or something else quite ridiculous. "I suppose we can pretend we're gentlemen, or whatever else you have in that head of yours, for now."

"Good." He removed one of the maps from the pile before him, placing it in front of the hero and tapping lightly at a place he'd circled in red. "Do you know what this is?"

The gypsy cocked his head, gaze now roving over the aging parchment. He shook his head slowly, tracing a finger over fading ink lines. "I've never seen a map like this before. Is it Albion?"

"Indeed. Albion has been remapped at least four times in the past three hundred years, if not more. Before that, well, who knows?"

Sparrow glanced up at him. "Then it's fair to assume who ever makes these never went out much. It doesn't seem possible the landscape changes that much in such a short time span."

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised…It's not always a matter of change so much as it is purposely loosing something."

The hero pulled the map closer, grabbing a newer one from the pile and placing the two side by side. He knew they were more or less identical as far as shaping of the land of Albion went, but the few discrepancies were indeed notable.

Sparrow traced the area on the newer map that showed nothing where Reaver's circle was on the older one. A blank space of ocean where an entire land mass had been omitted. And with it the city in the circle. He ran a finger over the symbols marking the place. "What does it say?"

"Snowspire."

"Never heard of it."

"_Really_? My my, your gypsy mentor never told you about it? No stories of epic battles before bedtime? Pity. I wonder what else she never bothered telling you about…"

Frowning down at the map, Sparrow's eyes traced the ancient lines no longer in use, mind clearly elsewhere. Reaver waited, sipping absently at his wine and studying the creature before him.

"This place, why did you circle it?"

"So I could find it again, obviously. To be truthful, I never believed the place really existed myself, until I managed to find that map that is. Picked it up off some old pirate and never thought much about it, just…added it to my collection of useless junk." He chuckled fondly as he thought of the insane amount of useless baubles and trinkets he'd picked up over the years.

"I've seen birds that do that. Find random odds and ends to take back and hide in their nests. I always associated them with gypsies, but you look more like one than any of them ever did."

"I'm sorry?"

Sparrow gave him a bemused smile. "Their coloring, the birds. Elegant in black and white, whereas gypsies, at least the ones I knew, preferred patchy, outlandish colors. I tried to befriend one, once. Ended much like us now, always at odds, always wary of the others' plotting, and always having shit stolen." Crimson eyes glanced pointedly at the shirt Reaver was currently wearing. One he'd stolen from Sparrow's things while the hero had been gone.

"So I'm a bird now, am I?"

"Better then a rat."

"Mm, yes well, as I was saying before we got off on that _delightful_ little tandem of yours, I also circled that particular lost city for another reason."

"Which is?"

Reaver's lips quirked up into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Grabbing the wine bottle, he lifted it up and away from the object it had been shielding, setting it down on the other side of the table. Sparrow's eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.

The miniature Spire drew both pair of eyes, presence palpable in the way it seemed to steal all the warmth and oxygen from the air around them.

"It's where our answers are."

* * *

Again, it's been a pleasure ladies and gents,

deadpan_riot


End file.
